Snow
by Keeper of Tomes
Summary: 67 of the 100 Challenge. MC/P-A dream.


**Title: **Snow**  
Author: **Keeper of Tomes**  
Song: **"Too Cold To Snow," by Second Person**  
Summary: **67 of the 100 Challenge. P/MC-A dream.**  
Words: **??**  
Pairing(s): **P/MC

Gift!fic for Xekstrin, because she's amazing and has reviewed nearly every 100 Challenge fic I've written yet.

* * *

She walks down the familiar stone steps, past the stiff and barely awake guards, to the black cell at the end of an even blacker corridor.

Clinging to her boots are fragments of fast melting snow, come from above ground, where the sky is gray and little white pieces of heaven are floating to the earth. The cell's occupant hears her coming and sits up on her cot. The chains rattle beautifully as she moves, slim frame glowing in the cold darkness. Shadows slither like snakes from the cement to the steel; a pair of pale hands follow them and wrap around the metal bars, shaking them to wake the captive up a little more. What lies ahead requires the little birdie to be alert and active.

The languidity of her eyes is _fascinating_.

So calm.

But they won't be for long.

"Hello, Piper."

The girl is silent and unresponsive. But her captor doesn't care; her captor is in ecstacies. She walks forward and touches Piper's warm and deliciously soft skin; the girl's only reaction is to flinch away, held still only by the restraining chains around both wrists, tying her to the bedpost of a rickety cot. The Master leans forward, eyes glazed over with the joy of total control. Her hand is resting lightly on Piper's abdomen, tracing lazy lines across it, her lips are inches from the smooth skin of neck...

"You know you want it, Piper," she whispers.

The girl whimpers from beneath her, hisses: "I'd be lying if I said yes."

"Oh, come, come, now, let's not make this any harder than it already is."

And just as she is about to press her mouth against Piper's, just as she is about to show her prisoner how _delicious _this can be...

Reality hits.

...

She is back in her own bed, out of whatever world dreams belong in. Her chest is bobbing up and down, heavy breaths pulling themselves from her lungs with great effort. The image of Piper, writhing as she surpressed yells of submission, is slowly fading before her very eyes.

Master Cyclonis lays back down amongst the sheets, which are drenched in slick and salty sweat, closes her eyes, and hopes for sleep.

...

She walks down the familiar stone steps, past the stiff and barely awake guards, to the black cell at the end of an even blacker corridor.

It is so cold, the blood in her hands is slowing down, making veins visible. So cold, weather-men have said it is too cold for snow. If such a thing is possible.

Piper is waiting for her, hands folded expectantly in her lap. Opening the door, a blast of warm air hits the Master's face. The girl smiles, fingers wrapped tightly around the fabric of her own shirt, as if ready to pull it off. Piper's eyebrows are turned downwards, determined. She knows what is coming. The Master knows, too. That to Piper, the battle is not yet lost. That just because Cyclonis is standing beside her, ready to ravage, does not mean all hope is gone.

There is still one more fight, and this one will take place in bed.

"Do you mind taking the chains off?" she asks, voice smooth as silk, light as rain. "I would be more comfortable...more _agile_...without them."

As if in a trance, the Master obliges. Rusty metal falls from chafed wrists. Piper rubs them, before grabbing her captor's stiff shirt and pulling her down into her mouth. The warmth of lips, the hard knock of teeth-on-teeth, is delicious. The girl is sweet, her skin like honey. The Master wishes to be on top, to be in control--

The tables are turned and Piper is above her, smiling with victory. She leans downwards and kisses the nape of the Master's neck.

"Is this how you like it?" she hisses. "Is this what you want? Is this why you _brought me down here?!_"

Cyclonis moans, breath broken by desire, eyes flitting in and out of sanity...of lucidity...

Piper's knee is on her abdomen, moving slowly downwards. It reaches her thigh and starts to press downw on the muscle, the sensitive skin.

"Come on, Lark, I thought we were friends. And friends shouldn't keep secrets from each other, should they? No? Didn't think so. Say you want it, Lark. No more lies. _Say you want it._"

The Master does not respond. She tries to sit up, tries to regain the last fast-dying shards of her dignity and power, but this slim little girl on top of her has total control. Her senses are filled with Piper: she smells her musky sweetness, sees her grinning face, feels her warmth, can still taste her lips, hear her breathing..._Oh my god...Oh my god..._

This was not how she imagined this to be.

Dark brown fingers are creeping boldly downwards, poised above their target.

_"Say it."_

No.

_"Say it."_

No!

_"Sa-"_

_...  
_

She is back in her own bed, out of whatever world dreams belong in. Her chest is bobbing up and down, shallow and light little breaths dancing from her mouth to the air. The image of herself, reflected in Piper's eyes, writhing as she surpressed yells of submission, is embedded into her mind.

Master Cyclonis lays back down amongst the sheets, which are crumpled by sweaty fists and drowned in frustrated tears. She closes her eyes, and hopes for sleep.

...

She walks down the familiar stone steps, past the stiff and barely awake guards, to the black cell at the end of an even blacker corridor.

The air is shattering as she moves. Temperature below zero. Even the mercury in her thermometer is frozen. A sheet of ice blankets the palace's highest towers.

Piper is asleep, each breath sending warm mist into the air. The door of the victim's cell is opened slowly, so as not to wake the girl. Master Cyclonis sits down on the cot beside her, watching the gentle curve of her jaw...The bend of her ear...The point of her beautiful little nose...

The flesh around the girl's wrists has been rubbed raw by chains; out of sympathy, the Master takes them off and massages the skin. Piper does not wake; no doubt, she has been drugged. Yet Cyclonis is quiet, Cyclonis is still. She half closes her eyes and runs one finger from the girl's chin to her neck, to her breasts and to her stomach. There, her hand pauses, resting above the diaphragm. Feeling the lungs, swelling and deflating. Piper has no blanket and shivers in her subconscious.

"Guards!"

The two men come scurrying.

"Get the prisoner a blanket. Make it a thick one."

"Yes, ma'am."

They are gone. She leans down, inhaling Piper's unique scent of paper and crystal dust. Lightly takes a strand of hair and smells it; clinging to it is the odor of Piper's morning shower. Before the Talons caught her and brought her in. _Oh, darling, if only you knew...It was for your own good...You will like it here, I promise..._ The world is swollen, ready to break. The silence has enveloped the two figures like a sheet of brittle ice.

She wishes the girl before her would realize that this was _love_...This was more than superficial desire or lust...It had taken a while for the Master to realize this herself...

Her cold hands are warmed by the girl's body; she goes as far as placing them beneath Piper's shirt, then stops.

The guards return with a wool blanket, then leave at the Master's request. She wraps the sheet around Piper's shivering body, leans down, and touches her cheek. Chuckles to herself, as if to reassure: _Don't worry. We'll have more fun when you're awake._

Whispers: "Sleep tight, Piper."

Leaves.

...

She is back in her own bed, out of whatever world dreams belong in. Her breathing is steady, slow, as her eyes slowly open, fingers sprawled across the sheets. The image of Piper, sleeping peacefully in a prison cot, drugged and unconscious, is slowly drifting to the back of her memory.

Master Cyclonis lays back down amongst the sheets, which are smooth as glass and stiff as dry ice. She closes her eyes, and hopes for someone else to lay beside her, and wish her a good night's rest.

Outside is the falling snow.

Inside is the line between reality and dreams, blurring before her very eyes, until the image is gone, in its place a smoky remnant of perfection.


End file.
